“Morning to ye! morning to ye!” he rejoined, again moving off. “Oh! I was going to warn ye against—but never mind, never mind—it’s all one, all in the family too;—sharp frost this morning, ain’t it? Good-bye to ye. Shan’t see ye again very soon, I guess; unless it’s before the Grand Jury.”
Dentist yesterday. I sit in the chair—there is a fountain somewhere, but the water in it doesn’t tinkle, it splashes—with my mouth open, and I think, What is the answer to this? Do I have them pull all my teeth and replace them with fake teeth and then I have only fake teeth and those teeth can’t rot? But is it accurate to say that fake teeth can’t rot? And even if they can’t, don’t you still have to take care of your gums and get check-ups for your gums? So then what should I do? How can I possibly get out of coming here three times a year, every year, for all my days? How can I avoid feeling my mouth fill with water until it dribbles over my lower lip? And involuntarily clasping my hands together in my lap? And having to stare at the overhead lights and listen to the music that is still elevator music even though it has been upgraded to tasteful covers of famous songs performed with guitars and quavering female voices? And the answer is, There is no way out of this that you would like.
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